


when nothing's good enough

by magictodestroy



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, character introspection, pariging, transgender ging, watching horror movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 19:08:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14921189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magictodestroy/pseuds/magictodestroy
Summary: Pariston and Ging wait for Netero to come back.





	when nothing's good enough

‘It’s too hot,’ Pariston says, but Ging isn’t listening, and if he were, he would probably disagree.

It’s summer. They’re out in the back garden of Netero’s house. Ging is feeding the koi in the pond. They bubble up after the food, bright red and orange, and Ging laughs.

‘I’m going inside,’ Pariston says, although he doesn’t want to. He wants to watch Ging’s face. His lit up eyes and his turned up lips are mesmerising. ‘Do you want something to drink?’

Ging turns, finally paying attention now that Pariston’s talking about something he might want.

‘Yeah.’ He tosses the last of the food out over the pond and brushes his hands together to clean them.

Pariston leads him down the grassy path between the trees to the back door. He’s left the radio on and an orchestra plays softly. He takes off his shoes while Ging pads in ahead of him barefoot.

‘When’s the chairman getting back?’ Ging asks. He swings open the refrigerator and searches for something to drink, chewing his lip.

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Long wait. Sounds boring.’

It’s warm inside, but not stifling. Still, it’s hot enough that Pariston takes off his tie and unbuttons the top buttons of his dress shirt.

‘You’re stupid,’ Ging grabs a can of soda. ‘What the fuck are you doing in those clothes in this heat?’ Ging’s wearing a white tank top and loose grey shorts. They’re wrinkled and slightly damp since he keeps hosing himself down.

Pariston smiles for a moment. ‘I want to look professional.’

‘Why?’ Ging dumps ice cubes into a glass and pours the soda over. It foams up too high and tips over the side of the glass and runs down to the marble counter top. Ging doesn’t clean it. He waits for it to settle and pours in more.

‘It’s good to be professional when you’re working.’

Ging glances him over, unconvinced. ‘You’re gonna get heatstroke.’

Pariston smiles again.

Ging sits on the sofa, legs crossed. He puts on the television and drags out a tote of ancient documents he’s been working on translating for the past month. He flips through them, muttering under his breath. His glass sits dangerously close to them.

Pariston settles next to him with a bottle of raspberry lime sparkling water.

‘What are you doing?’ he asks, to start a conversation.

‘You know.’

Of course. Pariston hums and looks out the window. Netero has a nice place. It’s fun being vice chairman and having the privilege of being trusted with tasks like keeping Ging in place until the chairman can get back as well as being trusted not to burn the place down or search the entire house for blackmail. Although as far as he’s seen, Netero isn’t stupid enough to leave anything around. Trust is a loose term.

Ging sips his soda through a straw, hunched over the texts. Pariston watches him. He touches the back of his neck where Ging’s damp hair clings to his skin. Ging swats his hand away automatically.

Pariston puts a coaster under Ging’s glass and another under his bottle. He grabs a file of boring paperwork. Paperwork is a downside of being vice chairman. There’s so much of it.

He pulls out a pink glitter gel pen and fills in forms. They’re important forms and if someone complains they aren’t official because of the pink gel pen, it’s going to be a headache for Netero.

Ging gets frustrated half an hour later and dumps the documents back into the small plastic tote they came from. He shuts the lid and shoves the tote under the sofa. He flings himself face first onto the sofa and grumbles into the cushion.

‘They’re never getting done!’

Pariston stops working and rubs Ging’s ankle. Ging kicks gently but doesn’t protest otherwise.

‘Do you want to go see a movie?’ Pariston says. ‘Maybe you just need to take a break.’

Ging shrugs. ‘Okay.’

 

 

 

The city is quiet. It’s the middle of the day, but it’s too hot to do much. The streets are mostly empty. Pariston finds a small movie theatre stashed between a restaurant and a boutique shop. The air conditioning is blasting. Ging shivers when they step inside.

‘Should have worn a suit,’ Pariston teases.

‘I’ll adjust.’

The theatre is only playing two movies. Some horror film and an action blockbuster. Pariston buys two tickets for the horror movie since it’s starting in fifteen minutes and they’d have to wait an hour for the action movie.

‘It’s about a demon,’ he tells Ging.

‘I thought you were done acting.’

They sit towards the back in the almost empty theatre. It’s musty, and the seats are dark red.

‘I like popcorn,’ Pariston says.

They have a bucket of it. It’s hot and patches of grease are discolouring the sides. Pariston holds it on his lap on a pile of napkins. Ging picks out kernels idly.

‘I’ve always liked popcorn,’ Pariston continues.

Ging glances at him but doesn’t say anything. He puts his feet up on the back of the chair in front of him.

Pariston offers him a piece of popcorn to eat from his fingers. Ging sticks his tongue out and kind of flicks it into his mouth. Pariston giggles.

‘You’re so weird, Paris.’ Ging stretches, hands high above his head. He yawns. ‘I’m probably gonna fall asleep.’

‘Maybe it will be too scary.’

Ging yawns again. He shoves up the arm rest between the seats and put his head on Pariston’s shoulder. Pariston puts an arm around him.

‘I want your jacket,’ Ging says. ‘I’m cold.’

Pariston takes off his suit jacket. It’s lilac with shimmery pinstripes. Ging pulls it on. It’s too big and makes Ging look even smaller.

Ging grabs a handful of popcorn. He watches the previews, looking bored already. He yawns again.

‘Kite loves horror movies,’ he says.

‘Oh?’ Pariston doesn’t like when Ging brings up Kite. Ging seems to find Kite more interesting than he finds Pariston. It’s horrible.

‘Yeah.’

‘That’s understandable given his personality.’

Ging doesn’t comment. He searches the jacket for pockets. There are four, and he empties them all. The breast pocket has a handkerchief, the outside pockets have shiny lip balm and hair pins, and the inner pocket has a library card and a stick of gum. Ging puts everything back. Some more people wander into the theatre.

‘Do you like horror movies?’ Ging asks.

‘Not really.’

‘Why’d you pick it?’

‘It was the first movie playing, and the other one looked boring.’

Ging stares at him for a bit. ‘So neither of us are here to watch a movie.’

‘Guess not.’ Pariston isn’t sure what Ging means. He hopes it means they’ll make out, but that isn’t likely. Ging’s probably planning on taking a nap.

Pariston counts the people in the theatre, makes note of who they are and where they’re sitting. He notes the exits and the aisles. He feeds Ging popcorn occasionally.

The movie starts and neither of them speak. It’s scary in the way Pariston doesn’t like: jump cuts and sudden noises and music to agitate you. It’s irritating knowing exactly why it’s bothering you and still being bothered. Goosebumps spring up over Pariston’s arms. He shudders.

Ging’s watching his face. Pariston looks at him and Ging looks back at the screen. He watches with muted interest and takes out one of the hairpins to play with.

Pariston used to like horror movies more. He liked them in the same way he liked roller coasters. They were places you could scream and no one would question it or ask nauseatingly invasive questions about what was wrong with you.

But screaming doesn’t help as much any more.

Pariston squeezes Ging.

‘You’re getting scared?’ Ging whispers. ‘You can scream if you want to.’

Ging’s getting tense. Pariston can feel it. He breathes in Ging’s scent. He smells like grass and hose water.

‘So can you,’ Pariston says.

‘I’m not scared.’

‘Sure.’

Ging puts on Pariston’s lip balm.

Pariston glances back at the screen. They still haven’t shown the demon. There’s a shadow suddenly in the mirror, and Ging jumps at the same time as Pariston.

‘Maybe we’re both scared.’ Ging squirms.

‘I’m not scared.’

‘Uh huh.’

They both jump again. Ging takes Pariston’s hand.

‘You can hide your face in my chest,’ Ging says. ‘If you’re scared.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Okay.’

They’re quiet again. Pariston wonders if he should just admit he’s scared. Or pretend to lie about being scared so that he can save face and still get close to Ging. That’s useless. Ging knows he’s scared. Ging’s scared too. He’s tense and his breathing is carefully even.

Pariston slides his arms around Ging and presses his face to his chest. Ging’s heart is beating fast. Ging puts his arms around Pariston and puts his chin on the top of his head. The popcorn bucket is pressed between their thighs. It’s still warm, and the grease is probably going to ruin Pariston’s pants. Pariston tucks more napkins around it as a shield.

They watch the movie clutching at each other. Ging jumps now and again, knocking popcorn across his lap. Pariston lets himself scream. Other people are screaming too, so it’s suddenly normal. Right now, everyone’s scared.

Ging runs his hand through Pariston’s hair.

‘Paris,’ he whispers, barely audible over the loud thumping of the demon pulling itself upstairs on all fours on-screen. ‘Paris?’

Pariston looks up at him, waiting for a question. Ging’s face glows in the dim red light from the exit sign. But Ging only says Pariston’s name again, soft and deep. Still, Pariston finds himself trembling. Ging’s addicting, and it’s been too long since they were alone together. He takes Ging’s hand and wraps it in his long fingers.

He loves Ging, and his love is devouring. It is crude and brutal. Ging knows this. He knows it and yet he always comes back for more. It’s because they understand each other. Pariston thinks they’re probably the only people in the world who understand each other.

Kite loves Ging, but his love is worshipful and overestimates Ging in every way. Pariston knows better. Ging is selfish and careless and greedy and bored. He jumps from one project to another hoping to find the thing he’s searching for. But they both know it’s impossible. Neither of them will ever be satisfied. That’s what makes a true hunter. A true hunter can never get what they want because what they want is everything. And that’s impossible.

Pariston lifts Ging’s fingers to his mouth and kisses them. Ging stares down at him. He says, ‘I love you,’ and Pariston knows he means it. He presses his face to Ging’s chest and cries.

 

 

 

After the movie they drive back to Netero’s house not really talking. Ging looks out the window. He’s still wearing Pariston’s jacket.

‘It wasn’t bad,’ Pariston says.

‘Guess not.’

Pariston pulls into the driveway and parks the car in the underground garage. They get out and ride up the elevator together. Ging slouches against the wall. It’s only five in the afternoon.

The doors slide open and they go into the house. Everything’s how they left it. Pariston had forgotten the bottle of sparkling water out. He puts it in the fridge and wipes the counter clean where Ging spilled the soda.

Ging gets a glass of water and drinks it slowly. He looks out at the garden.

‘Is he happy, do you think?’

‘The chairman? I guess.’ Pariston shrugs. ‘He’s happy enough.’ He smiles. ‘I drive him crazy. That’s wonderful.’

‘He’s not lonely.’

‘Are you lonely, Ging?’

Ging smiles a hard smile at him. ‘Of course not.’’

Pariston nods. ‘I’m never sad either.’

 

 

 

They work for sometime in silence, side by side on the sofa. Pariston reads newsletters and checks off boxes, and Ging translates ancient text page by page. The air cools a little as the sun sets lower, but it’s still hot. Ging quickly sheds Pariston’s jacket, and Pariston finally gives up and changes into a satin pyjama set with short sleeves and shorts.

Half past eight Ging goes out to feed the koi again. Pariston follows, also barefoot. They feed them together as the sun sets a hazy orange ball against the green mountains. Fireflies appear, blinking on and off in the leaves.

‘It’s perfect,’ Pariston says. ‘This is what people want.’

Ging nods. He sits down. Pariston settles next to him and takes his hand. The grass is deep green and cool by the edge of the pond. Their hands rest on the grass, fingers laced tightly together.

‘What do you want?’ Ging says.

‘You.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m not bored around you.’

Ging glances at him.

The sky is pink and purple at the edges running up into a deep blue. Stars appear dimly above them. Clouds move fast along the horizon, grey and white, tinged pink at the edges.

Ging lies down on his back and stares up at the sky through the lacy black silhouettes of the leaves. He doesn’t let go of Pariston’s hand, so Pariston lies down too.

A moment later, Ging slides on top of him. He stares down at Pariston and then kisses his mouth. He kisses gently. It’s slow and quiet. He holds Pariston’s hand above his head and kisses along the side of his cheek and then against his jaw. Each kiss is soft and deliberate.

Pariston watches him, eyes half closed. Ging is beautiful, outlined and illuminated by the setting sun.

Ging kisses Pariston’s ear, his hair. He kisses his shoulder and along his arm, then his wrist and each of his fingers.

‘I love you,’ Ging whispers against his palm.

Pariston shivers.

‘I love you,’ Ging says again.

‘Ging.’ Pariston pulls him back to kiss his mouth.

Ging kisses back, his breathing unsteady. He sits up long enough to pull his shirt off over his head. He drops it onto the grass beside them and lies back down on Pariston.

Pariston slides his hands along Ging’s back, up over his shoulders. He runs them down across his chest.

‘Ging, you’re beautiful.’

Ging unbuttons Pariston’s shirt. He opens it and presses his lips to his chest. He kisses him and kisses him again. Pariston sighs. A breeze picks up and stirs the grass around them. The wind chimes ring.

Pariston sits up to take his shirt off completely. He holds Ging on his lap and strokes his legs. They’re hard with muscles, but the hair on his thighs is soft. His skin is warm.

Ging touches Pariston’s smooth legs then his abdomen. He brushes his golden hair. His hand trembles.

Pariston holds Ging steady on his lap and kisses him. Ging’s eyes are shining. They keep fluttering open, even as he tries to keep them closed.

It has been too long. Pariston puts his hand in Ging’s hair.

‘You’re the only person in the world who understands me.’

Ging laughs. ‘I’m sure that’s not true.’

Pariston lies Ging down. He slides his shorts off and kisses his legs from his ankles to his hips. Ging touches his hair again. He smiles. Pariston kisses across Ging’s tummy and chest. He pulls off his underwear and touches him. Ging’s soft and warm.

‘You are,’ Pariston says. We’re so much alike.’

Ging shakes his head, but he says nothing, and Pariston goes down on him.

The sky is shading from purple to deep blue. The branches above them swoop low and bend twisted, heavy with leaves. Ging takes a fistful of grass and holds it to his face, breathing in the fragrance of the sweet grass and the damp earth.

‘You strange forest creature,’ Pariston whispers.

Ging smiles and holds the grass out for him to smell.

‘There’s grass everywhere,’ Pariston says.

‘Maybe we’re not so much alike.’

Pariston smells the grass. It’s sweeter now that it’s been crushed in Ging’s hand. He kisses Ging’s hip, his legs, between them again.

Ging touches his hair. ‘I love you.’

The sun sets lower, and Ging comes as it disappears completely behind the mountains. He comes quietly, trembling all over for a few moments and then lying still.

‘Ah,’ he says, and his fist falls open, and the grass spills out.

Pariston leans over him and kisses him. Ging kisses him very carefully. Pariston lies on the grass beside him and traces his body from his knee to his shoulder and back down again. Ging keeps his eyes closed, head tilted to the side. Pariston caresses him. The light is fading, and shadows fall across both of them.

‘You’re falling asleep, Ging.’

‘Mm.’

Ging doesn’t open his eyes. Pariston kisses his forehead and draws him closer, tucking him fully against his body. Ging’s skin is hot. Pariston presses his face to Ging’s and closes his eyes as well. The wind chimes ring pure and clear over the leaves rustling in the wind. The creek running to the pond babbles over smooth rocks. Ging sighs. He is smiling.

Pariston tells himself to remember this. This is what people want. To be warm and safe and content with someone who loves you lying in your arms. This is what it means to be happy. This is where people would stop.

But he needs more than this, and Ging needs more than this. This is just one moment that will soon be gone. And he loves Ging, so he will have to destroy him. Ging will probably hate that. Most people do. Not Pariston because Pariston isn’t human. Maybe Ging isn’t human either. They might have been made for each other. Maybe they could be happy in their own way.

But then they would want something else again.

Pariston traces Ging’s face. He brushes his fingers across his lips. The clouds are no longer illuminated, and the grass is turning black in the shadows around them. Ging’s skin is cooling. Pariston holds his hand across his face, and it’s beautiful. He shivers although he isn’t cold. The moment is passing already.

‘I love you, Ging,’ Pariston says. ‘I love you.’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
